


freeze, breathe, release

by goldkirk



Series: take a breath, take your time [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Depersonalization, Derealization, Dissociation, Gen, PTSD, Post War, Recovery, Trauma, this was written pre-season-6 so no spoilers don’t worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 05:08:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15017309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldkirk/pseuds/goldkirk
Summary: The war is over, and things are good, but the effects of trauma don’t go away overnight. They all have healing to do, and symptoms to deal with, and nobody more so than Shiro.————It happened mostly without warning. Mundane moments of days that should have been fine, but here he was--or at least he tried to convince himself he was. After everything he’d been through in the past few years, especially his time as a prisoner, it was so hard sometimes to believe that where he was and what he was experiencing was actually real and not a trick or hallucination dreamed up by his captors or conjured by his own brain because the pain got to be too much. Which left him here.Stopped dead in the middle of bounding up a flight of stairs, for no particular reason other than that he couldn’t tell if he OR the stairs were real and if he could move at all.





	freeze, breathe, release

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of my own personal experiences with dissociation, and it’s different for everyone who experiences it. My experience isn’t pulled neatly from a textbook definition, nor is it going to represent what it’s like for someone else necessarily. I hope this can help someone feel a little less alone, though, even if your experience isn’t the exact same as mine! If you’re struggling with dissociation yourself, hang in there. You’re going to keep making it through. <3

After the war, when they all went back to spend a long, well-deserved break on Earth, the paladins and their families ended up in one large unused mansion out in the country where they could have each other, privacy from the nosy media and general public, and lots of access to nature that the paladins had missed so much during all their time in space. They had tried being apart for all of two days before everyone involved had agreed it wasn’t going to work. The paladins needed to be near each other, after everything they’d been through and how in sync they had needed to become. When you shared each other’s minds and daily life so deeply and for so long, there wasn’t an easy way to just suddenly stop.

Shiro was grateful that it had worked out so well. It was good to finally have time and space to rest after so long fighting and planning and working to help others. They loved what they did, and he didn’t think any of them planned to stop permanently, but they needed time to come down from the war, and from their work, and they needed to be with their families again, if they had them.

Lance and Hunk had their families, and Keith finally got to spend more time with his mom. And Matt and Pidge had both their parents finally, and just like before any of them had ever even left for Kerberos, Shiro had the Holts.

It was good, and it was needed, and no one would give up their hard earned peacetime to go back to fighting the war. But as they discovered, not having to handle crisis after crisis all the time anymore meant their brains and bodies finally had time to start processing everything they had gone through. Depression, panic attacks, PTSD, and dissociation were terms and realities paladins and families alike quickly became intimate with. Which meant a lot of unpredictable and difficult mental roller coaster rides for all of them, and none of them more than Shiro.

——-

It happened mostly without warning. Mundane moments of days that should have been fine, but here he was--or at least he tried to convince himself he was. After everything he’d been through in the past few years, especially his time as a prisoner, it was so hard sometimes to believe that where he was and what he was experiencing was actually real and not a trick or hallucination dreamed up by his captors or conjured by his own brain because the pain got to be too much. Which left him here.

Stopped dead in the middle of bounding up a flight of stairs, for no particular reason other than that he couldn’t tell if he OR the stairs were real, and if he could move at all. He didn’t know how long he had been frozen in mid-action like this--it might have been a few seconds, or several minutes, by now. He wrestled up some willpower and forced his eyes to glance down.

One foot up, one foot down. Hand on the banister. Towel tucked under his other arm. Still damp? Maybe? The soft blue glow of his arm’s seams lit up the peach towel surface in small patches. Shiro got stuck staring at them, too. Eventually he was able to drag his eyes up again, looking up at the floor above him, just below eye level. Six stairs. He counted. Six stairs. He should keep walking. Just get up to the top. Keep walking and put the towel...wherever it was he was supposed to put the towel. Get up the stairs. Right there.

But he couldn’t. He was standing and upright and completely physically capable of walking and sure, the world didn’t feel real, but he was in a body and he was damn well able to walk up the stairs so just---MOVE! He shouted mentally at his legs. Finally, Shiro just closed his eyes and let himself drift, figuring he’d come out of it soon enough, or he’d try again in a minute and one of these times his legs would work. He knew he could walk up the stairs. He shouldn’t be stuck. This was ridiculous.

_Takashi. It’s a nice morning. You’re a grown man. You have no reason to be standing in the middle of the stairs, you’re blocking the walk path. Just move. Come on. Just--_

“Takashi?”

Shiro’s eyes opened. Mrs. Holt, standing at the top of the steps. He tried to wrestle words out, a good morning, tell her hello and that he was fine.

“Takashi,” she repeated, gently. “Are you all right?”

“I,” he finally got out slowly. “I’m.” Come on, he scolded himself. Talk. Words. That’s a thing. Do the speaking. “Stuck, for…” he was getting only one syllable out at a time. “Um.”

Colleen nodded, not looking like this was anything out of the ordinary. Ever since Dr. Holt had first started bringing Shiro home for dinners from the Garrison years ago, Shiro had admired that about Mrs. Holt. She had a remarkable ability to take everything in stride and adapt on the fly, to both the good and the bad and to everything in between. It was, Shiro had learned, an important skill in a family of geniuses, herself included. You never knew what was going to come up.

“Shiro,” she said, making sure he was looking at her again. “I’m going to go grab Matt, all right? I’ll be right back. If you come up while I’m gone, just scooch on over to the couch and we’ll meet you there. Okay?”  
“‘Kay,” he managed to reply.

She disappeared from the landing. Shiro sighed. It was so simple. He needed to just walk up the stairs. One foot at a time. Easy.

Not so much. He managed to get his bottom foot up on the step his top one was on, but when he shifted his hand up the bannister it was a jerking motion, and his other foot refused to lift up onto the next step. At least that was one step closer, but still.

There was a noise behind Shiro, and if he wasn’t halfway divorced from his own body at the moment he would have snapped around to see what was going on, but as it was, all he could do was stiffen slightly while his heart hammered in his chest like he was running a marathon. One foot left the step, but kicked the step above it without clearing the step’s lip.

“Hey, Shiro!” came Lance’s voice, cheerfully.

Shiro tried to force himself to relax, calm his pounding heart. Lance. Not a threat. Just Lance.

“Lance,” Shiro got out.

“Hey man. Good morning.” Lance’s voice got closer as his footfalls thunked up the steps below Shiro. “I almost woke up earlier than you today! Not a nightmare though, this time, just excited. I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited to go to a regular old Earth mall in my whole life. Are you stuck right now?”

This was why Shiro loved Lance at times like this. Lance always got right down to the heart of things without making it awkward or talking to Shiro a bit like he was fragile glass. Shiro needed them to be patient and understanding, but he definitely wasn’t a baby deer.

“Yeah,” Shiro said.

“Got it. That sucks.”

Shiro found he was able to quietly snort. Wasn’t a laugh, but definitely an improvement.

“Do you want help?” Lance asked.

“Uh,” Shiro said. “Help? Like.”

“Like, do you think it would help if I just got you moving externally instead of you having to try to force it while you’re stuck?”

“Um,” Shiro managed.  
“Hang on,” Lance said from behind him. “I’m going to squeeze past you on the left, okay? Awesome. I’m taking the towel, it’ll be easier this way. Here. I’m going to take your arm, and maybe if I just pull as I walk your body’ll remember to start walking too.”

“Lance--”

“Don’t worry, I’m going to be careful. You won’t fall on your face if your feet don’t move, I promise. Ready?”

Before Shiro could reply, Lance had firmly grasped Shiro’s arm and steadily pulled. Shiro was mildly surprised to find that he was, in fact, moving. His legs decided to remember how to be legs, and suddenly he was at the top of the stairs with Lance.

“I think,” he said slowly, “if you let go...I’ll be ok now.”

“Okay,” Lance said, giving him a grin and letting go. “You good?”

Shiro concentrated and took a few steps forward. “Yeah.”

“Awesome! I’m gonna go to the kitchen. Hang in there, man.” Lance started down the hallway, and Shiro’s hand darted out after him, just missing his shoulder.

“Lance!” Lance turned, surprised. Shiro tried to smile, unsure if his face cooperated or not, hoping for the best. “Thanks.”

Lance grinned, bright and backlit by the sun coming in from the kitchen windows. “No problem, Shiro. And I’ll take care of the towel.” He held it up, gave a little wave, and slipped around the kitchen’s corner toward the fridge.

Okay, Shiro thought. Move. Couch. He walked carefully, at a snail’s pace, making sure he saw where each foot was moving, checking that each was hitting solid ground, until he was close enough to sink down onto the couch in the living room. The blinds were still down in there, but the sunlight poured in around their edges and lit the room up pretty decently anyway. It was soft, and Shiro appreciated that.

Matt chose that moment to dart through the doorway, skidding to a halt in the middle of the room once he registered the sight of Shiro on the couch.

“Shiro! You made it up,” Matt said, grinning with all the intensity of an halogen light bulb.

“Lance helped,” Shiro explained. “Unstuck me enough to pull me up.”

“Whatever works, man,” Matt nodded solemnly. He leaned his head back against the head of the couch. “Still dissociating?”

“Yeah,” Shiro mumbled, trying not to sound as empty as he was feeling.

“Is this a door one, two, or three day?” Matt asked. He held up three fingers, one at a time as he spoke.

Shiro considered. Dr. Holt had come up with a few systems for everyone to use once it became clear that most of them were going to have various kinds of bad days after the trauma they’d gone through. When someone was too depressed to function, they were kept company by a designated buddy who didn’t stop trying to quietly engage them on and off all day while still giving them space and enough alone time. They had a list of strategies and box of comfort objects for when anxiety or panic attacks hit someone. If one of them had a flashback (usually Shiro, but the others got them every now and then) or a particularly bad nightmare, the others had a series of questions they followed, starting with yes or no ones that could be answered with simple nods or shakes of someone’s head if they weren’t up to speaking yet, and then once the person was ready to talk, they shifted to the next set of distracting questions and guided grounding.

Dissociation was different for all of them, and even for the same person sometimes was different from episode to episode. Sometimes it was so mild, they only felt a little off and detached, and other times it could be so strong they were watching themselves from above and behind, feeling completely outside of their body and the situation. Some of them struggled more with derealization, and some with depersonalization, and some with a blend of both. Sometimes, as it was with Shiro at the moment, they ended up in a middle kind of stage where they were still halfway present but dissociating enough to make anything beyond minimal functioning impossible.

So to handle the various ways dissociation could be causing problems, they came up with three kinds of options that a person could pick from, choosing what would help them most that time. Door #1 meant lots of physical and sensory grounding: weighted blanket, music, soft plush squeeze balls, a hot bath, going outside to feel plants and rocks, interacting with the solid and insistent dog next door, or constant physical snuggling from others if they were comfortable with it, things like that. Door #2 meant acitivity and distraction—being guided out to parks or stores or nice events, engaged in conversations, surrounded by other people until they started feeling a little more connected and/or human again, listening to music or watching movies, playing with animals, doing crafts, or making food. Door #3 meant it was an “I am so disconnected right now I can’t manage talking, interaction, or functioning, and I need to be left alone more or less until it starts getting better, but please don’t leave me alone, keep checking but just don’t expect me to respond.” That was for the very worst days. Luckily, those had been kept to a minimum so far.

“Door number two, today, I think,” said Shiro finally. “But let’s...take it slow.”

Matt sat forward, elbows on his knees as he looked over at Shiro. “How about a movie to start? We never did watch the Lion King 2. And I can go call the others and see if they want to join in, make it a cuddle pile morning on the floor.”

“That sounds good,” Shiro nodded. He was distantly pleased to realize he could feel like he actually was looking forward to it a little. That was a good sign. Usually if he dissociated, it lasted the whole day, if not longer. But it seemed like today he might get off easier. “Thanks,” he said, and meant it.

“You do this for me plenty,” Matt said with another smile, softer this time. “We all help each other out in one big happy family of shared mental trauma and lots and lots of love. It’s nice to return the favor for you when you need it.” Matt stood up and stretched. “I’ll be back in a jiffy. See who I can round up and then we’ll get this party going. Keith said the movie has a lot of really good singing in it? Although I might be getting it mixed up with another one. If Allura comes through, make her bring the mice and those awesome blankets Coran bought, will you? We deserve to be comfy. I’ll be right back.”

Shiro watched Matt disappear through the door, and for a brief moment he saw an overlapping image—Matt being pulled backwards through a thicker, darker doorway, fear on his face, each of them reaching an arm out as much as they could while in chains—and then Shiro blinked, and breathed, and the image was gone as quickly as it came. Today, no full flashback. Today, they were _all_ safe, and they were going to watch a happy movie, and even if he couldn’t feel it yet, things were going to be all right.

One day at a time. That was the new motto they told each other all the time, tacking it on to the end of Shiro’s patented _“Patience yields focus”_ pep talk with some humor.

They had all the time in the universe to heal, and Shiro was surrounded by all the people he loved, and for today, that would be enough.


End file.
